Help Save the Youth of America from Exploding
by Leevee
Summary: It's another year at Sky High, and the freshmen class is full of... interesting... students. Inside: high schoolers who speak like three year olds! Other high schoolers who act like dogs! Volume 04 now up.
1. Volume 01: Bus Ride

**Title**: Help Save the Youth of America from Exploding  
**Rating**: T, just to be safe.  
**Disclaimer**: I do not own Sky High or anything or anyone to do with Sky High. So don't sue me. I mean, you could, but all you'd get is a deflated rugby ball and a computer that freezes every five minutes. So it wouldn't really be worth it. I also don't own the title, which the title of a Less Than Jake song.

* * *

Volume 01

* * *

"I'm hungry," I remarked to the world at large as I jumped off of the sidewalk into the road, and then back on to the sidewalk. It was a habit I had picked up as a child, when I was convinced it would ward off evil spirits if every time I went to take a walk I first stepped into the road and then back on the sidewalk. It would tell the road I did not fear it or its vehicles, so they would not feel the need to jump off the road and hit me.

I never said I was an intelligent child.

"You're always hungry lately. It's like you got a tapeworm or something," my friend Trash complained, his face screwed up like he was smelling his namesake. Suddenly his face went straight and serious. "You don't, do you?"

"No, Trash, I would have told you if I had a tapeworm," I said, annoyed. Trash was a nice kid, and not at all deserving of his nickname, but sometimes he wasn't too bright. Like all of the time. But what could I do, we'd been friends since before pre-k. Plus, being mean to Trash would be like being kicking a puppy. You just don't do that. "I've told you before, I'm always hungry lately because I have to fuel my powers."

Now he looked confused. "Why does pre-cog need fuel? It's not like you're creating fireballs or anything."

"Well, okay, maybe it's not to fuel my power. Maybe it's more like, I can see into the future, when I'll be hungry, so I get hungry. And when I'm eating, I see myself in the future being full, so I quit eating even though I just started." Hm. That actually sounded vaguely plausible I thought, and then ducked.

A tennis ball smacked Trash in the chin, and would've smacked me except for the whole pre-cog thing. Which really doesn't like to work except when it comes to imminent threat of bodily harm.

"Hah! Sorry about that, Trash man! Gotta make sure Flinchie here's got her reflexes in shape," shouted a tall guy with shaggy brown hair standing at the corner down the street. I rolled my eyes at his nickname. He loved to sneak it in just to annoy me every now and then, it wasn't a constant nickname. I'd have probably shoved his stupid tennis ball down his throat if he called me that every time.

The shaggy haired guy was the last of our unlikely trio. His real name was Lucky Domino, because his parents had a mean sense of humor, but he had been called Rover for as long as anyone could remember, even longer than Trash had been Trash. It was mostly because of his stupid tennis ball that yes, he did occasionally carry in his mouth. He insisted he had started it in order to make games of Red Rover more fun. Yes, because what could be more fun than yelling "Red Rover, Red Rover, send Rover right over!"

I had also known him since pre-k, so again: not my fault.

Rover and Trash occupied the rest of our time at the makeshift bus stop punching each other in the shoulder and cracking up. Well, what more could you expect from fourteen year old boys?

I spent the waiting time reading a book, the title of which I carefully hid from sight. It was a book recommended for the 9-12 age range, after all, and I knew the guys would just love to laugh at me for it.

The bus was just coming up the street when there was a loud crashing noise and a silver-and-blue blur landed next to me on the sidewalk. I blinked to clear my vision and was rather surprised at what I saw.

"Vico?" And sure enough, it was Vico Delacourt dressed in a silver jersey and blue jeans. Unlike Rover and Trash, I hadn't met Vico through superhero parents, so I hadn't expected to find him here. He was a kid we had gone to middle school with, a pretty decent guy. Kind of weird and really jittery, but a great lab partner. And our jitteryness matched, at least. Maybe he had pre-cognition powers too? I squinted at him.

"You three are seriously going to Sky High?" he asked incredulously. I knew how that went. I glanced over my shoulder at the other two boys who were still pushing each other and were also now mimicking 80's television stars. I stared at the scene for a moment, and then jumped as the doors to the bus clanged open and a bad-tempered voice told us all to get on. The 'or else' remained unspoken but mutually understood.

Our group of four piled on to the bus. I hung back a moment to look at the familiar-looking bus driver as the others found seats. "Hey…" I said. I had finally placed the recognition. "Weren't you, like, arrested last year?"

The teenaged super villain known as Lash that the news stations had been chatting about a year ago glowered at me. "This is my community service. Now sit down."

I quickly went over to where the guys had saved me a seat, grinning. "This," I told them, practically glowing, "is awesome. Our bus driver's a super villain!" Neither Trash nor Vico looked too impressed. Rover might've, it was hard to tell around the tennis ball in his mouth. I made a face at the display and then turned around just in time to be strapped in and scream at the top of my lungs as the bus took off.

I spent most of the ride with my eyes squeezed shut tightly and making whimpering noises to keep from hyperventilating thanks to my incredible phobia of heights of any kind. And flying through said heights on a freaking SCHOOL BUS.

I vaguely heard Vico, sitting next to me, turn and ask Trash what was wrong with me. I'm also fairly sure he then gave off a loud, detailed account of all the previous bad experiences with heights that I'd had over my lifetime that led to my supposedly irrational fear of heights.

"IT'S NOT IRRATIONAL YOU MORON, IT'S ENTIRELY RATIONAL!" I hollered at him, somehow managing to break through the whimpers in order to verbally abuse my best friend.

After far, far too long a period, we landed. Super-Villain-Bus-Driver guy snarled, "Sky High," at us, and then kicked everyone off. I stumbled off after everyone else and wrestled my water bottle out of my backpack and took a couple of nice, deep gulps before following my friends and the rest of the freshmen.

To my surprise, Super-Villain-Bus-Driver (I'd call him Lash, but it seemed like a rather informal way to address someone I had just met) got off after me and stalked his way into the school. I raised an eyebrow at that.

Some girl I had never seen before noticed where I was staring. "He's a student here again. Him and the others who helped Royal Pain during the whole Homecoming Dance thing. They missed most of their senior year being in jail, so when they got parole they had to come back."

"Is it really that smart to teach known super villains how to use their powers? 'Cause then they might use them in even more villain-y ways," I said, and then thought about something. "And what about Royal Pain? Wasn't she a student too?"

"Ah," my new acquaintance said, "but she had already technically graduated. With the whole being regressed to baby-hood thing and such. And as for the super villain thing, I guess they're trying to reform them. Or something. Adults are kinda naïve sometimes."

I nodded at that. "I hear ya." And then my manners caught up with me. After all my parents had taught me, I'd had almost a full conversation with someone without giving my name? How dare I! "Jamie Delaney," I said, sticking out my hand and doing my damnedest not to wince at the rhyme in my name. Perhaps it was no 'Lucky Domino', but it was still pretty bad.

She shook my hand with a grin. "Mickey Summers. Well, technically Michelle. My brother Mark is a senior, that's how I know all the good gossip 'round here." Mickey glanced back at the school. "And I think we're maybe supposed to be following the mass exodus of freshmen over there."

I wheeled around and yep, she was right. "Oh, crap." We rushed over to join the herd and pretended like we had always been in it. Thankfully, my friends were morons, and therefore hadn't noticed.

We were going to the gym, for something called 'power placement'. Sounded ominous indeed.

* * *


	2. Volume 02: Power Placement

**Title**: Help Save the Youth of America from Exploding  
**Rating**: T  
**Disclaimer**: I do not own Sky High or anything or anyone to do with Sky High. So don't sue me. I mean, you could, but all you'd get is a deflated rugby ball and a computer that freezes every five minutes. So it wouldn't really be worth it. I also don't own the title, which the title of a Less Than Jake song.

* * *

**Volume 02**

* * *

The gym was exactly the same as gyms around the world. I guess it was pretty hard to get a high school gymnasium to resemble a museum like the front of the school did. The gym teacher started in pretty much the second all of the freshmen had filed in.

"I'm Coach Boomer, some of you may know me as Sonic Boom," he started off, glowering around the room at all of us like he was psychic or something. Which the codename did not seem to indicate. And Boomer had been what my dad called me when I was a little kid. Wow, now I was not going to be able to get through gym class without being creeped out. Brilliant.

"Now, I'm going to call each of your names and you're going to come up here and show me your power. And then I'll assign you to either hero or sidekick class. Of course, they're both equally important," he said, sneering. Really, he just oozed sincerity. Guy like him had pretty definitely been a hero, and not a sidekick.

Mickey, standing next to be, groaned and covered her eyes with her hand. "This is what I've been dreading," she said, eyes still covered. "Mark told me all about it."

I shrugged, forgetting she couldn't see me with her eyes covered, and couldn't help but feel a little jealous. My mom had gone here, and her sisters, and my cousins, and no one had told me a word of this. Probably because they knew if they had told me I would have been worrying about it all summer and would have made myself sick, but still. They should've told me!

"Delacourt!" Vico went up to the platform and the coach immediately started beaming at him. "Ah, Kismet's kid, huh? You alter 'destiny' too, huh, just like your mom?"

He winced. "Actually… I manipulate density. I think genetics got a little dyslexic along the way."

"CAR!" yelled the coach, and to the surprise and shouts of many, including myself, a car dropped out of the ceiling and onto Vico. It would have crushed him except that it started to… float… about three feet above him. "HERO!" bellowed the coach, smiling. Vico walked off of the platform with a smug grin on his face.

"Delaney!" Coach Boomer – shudder – yelled. I stood there for a moment in disbelief. I was first? What, Vico was the only one who came earlier than me in the alphabet? Typical… I slowly walked forward and climbed on to the platform. And stood there. I was in no rush to show my power, since I knew where it would land me. Everyone in my family who had ever gone to Sky High had been a sidekick. Mostly because we all had nearly the same ability. Except my cousin Kristy, who had managed telepathy instead of simple pre-cognition and had therefore been labeled a hero, but no one really liked her anyway.

"Well? Show your power!"

"Um… well, it's pre-cognition, but-"

"Alright, then, what word am I going to say next?"

"Well, see, it only works if I'm going to be hurt in the next, like, ten seconds, so…"

"SIDEKICK!" His yell blasted me off of the stage and I heard someone whisper, "I knew he was going to say that, maybe I've got pre-cognition." Ooh, when I found out who had said that… I eyed the crowd suspiciously as I picked myself off of the floor.

Rover was up next. I brightened up. He had been refusing all summer to tell us what his power was or even listen to our guesses. I was just hoping it wasn't shape-shifting into a dog, because I'd already run through so many dog-related jokes it was just getting tired.

He was grinning. "Show your power," the coach said in incredibly bored tones, looking down at his clipboard. And then he said it again, only with his mouth closed and Rover's open.

This time he looked up from his clipboard. "What?" he asked. And again, said it again with his mouth closed and it sounding like it came from Rover's.

Wait.

Ah, I got it. So Rover could mimic people, could he? I immediately started thinking up some parrot-related jokes and cunning insults. Oh, revenge would be sweet. Revenge for what? I have no idea. It just sounds better than "insults for the sake of insults would be sweet".

I watched the next ten or so kids go and variously get launched off of spring-loaded platforms or get cars dropped on them. I made a note of who got put in as a sidekick, simply because I was going to be in class with them. Heroes, on the other hand, not so important for memorization. At least not yet. Then, finally:

"Price!"

There was a pause and I waited for Trash to head up to the testing area. His real name was Ryan Price, although I can't remember his parents or any teachers calling him that in the last ten years or so.

"PRICE!"

"Damn it, Trash, that's you!" I yelled, jerking my head at the stage. "Go!"

"Oh, right." He jumped onto the platform and fell flat on his face. I buried my face in my hands. This probably wouldn't end well.

"Show your power."

"I am," Trash protested, puzzled.

The coach was not in the mood for games. "SIDEKICK!" he yelled, only this time it was only loud and not blasting everyone back ten feet. Trash grinned.

"I block other people's powers," he said smugly.

Coach Boomer raised an eyebrow. "Alright, hero!"

I shook my head. It figured. Trash was a hero, and with my luck, I'd end up as his sidekick upon graduation. That was so not right.

A handful of others went through the process, until finally the last person I was really caring about went up with a cry of "Summers!"

"Er, I'm… sort of magnetic. And I can bend metal really really easy."

Coach Boomer looked at her incredulously. "SIDEKICK!"

She hung her head and cleared the stage. I patted her on the back when she reached us. "Cheer up, I'm a sidekick too."

"Oh, I don't really mind being a sidekick," she said, lifting her head up. "It's just that my brother can manipulate metal and turn things into metal and he's a hero and he's totally going to be laughing at me for this."

It seemed like we would find out soon if that would happen, as the lunch bell rang right then and the coach dismissed us. I was just hoping the lunch wouldn't be mutated, y'know, keeping in with the theme of the place and all.


	3. Volume 03: Lunch

**Title**: Help Save the Youth of America from Exploding  
**Rating**: T, just to be safe.  
**Disclaimer**: I do not own Sky High or anything or anyone to do with Sky High. So don't sue me. I mean, you could, but all you'd get is a deflated rugby ball and a computer that freezes every five minutes. So it wouldn't really be worth it. I also don't own the title, which the title of a Less Than Jake song.

* * *

Volume 03

* * *

The first thing I noticed about the cafeteria was that it was nicely divided into sections. I didn't know why I had been expecting otherwise; superheroes or not, this was still a high school. There were all the usually groups: the "Goths", such as they called themselves even though it was highly unlikely they had been around for the sacking or Rome and/or were a type of architecture; the rebels, the group I had a hard time taking seriously after my mother had sat me down and had a serious discussion on politics and anarchy when we were leaning about John Locke last year; the artistic types, far too emotional over everything; the theater types, who were the artistic kids, but with accents; the airheads, pointing and giggling at pretty much everyone… 

Yep, this was high school.

Suddenly, my arm was yanked halfway out of its socket. The cause of this force was a certain boy named Trash, and the motive was to drag me over to stare at the various foodstuffs offered by the fine establishment of Sky High School.

"Traaaash, I brought my lunch! I'm not going to buy anything!" I complained at him, attempting to yank my arm out of his grip. He tugged it a couple of times, and then pointed at a specific display. "Trash, I'm not – ooh." My eyes, if I'd been able to see them at this point, had all but doubled in size. "Appa joos." Or, if you spoke English and not three year old, apple juice. I had a long love affair with apple juice, dating back from early childhood.

I quickly bought five juice boxes – I hadn't planned on buying lunch, but I always carried my wallet with me – and concentrated on holding on to all of them as I waited for Trash and Rover to get their lunches. All of parents refused to make our lunches for us after elementary school, and I was the only one who got up early enough to make a few peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches and throw them in a paper sack for lunch. I was also possibly the only one of us who knew how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Mickey had a talent for cutting lines without seeming like she was cutting anyone, so she had her tray long before the guys got started. She stood next to me, bouncing from foot to foot and keeping a wary eye out for her brother. Vico stood with us, not wanting to venture into the dark depths known as "eating lunch by yourself, you complete and total loser". Every now and then, when she wasn't looking, he'd steal a fry off of Mickey's tray.

Finally, everyone had something to eat, and we headed off to find a table. And we found one – emphasis on the singular. It was next to a table full of… rather eclectic figures. I frowned and attempted to figure out what tall, dark, and scary was doing sitting with all-American boy and a hippie, and gave up.

Trash starting marching over to the table and I followed him. Vico grabbed him and hissed, "Don't you know who they are!" at us excitedly.

We shared a blank look with each other, and then with him. "…no?"

"That's the group that defeated Royal Pain last year! When they were freshmen, at the Homecoming dance?"

Now something clicked. "Oooh, yeah, that's right," I said, nodding my head. I had forgotten they went to Sky High. Which was kind of really stupid of me, I mean, they had defeated Royal Pain IN Sky High, so wouldn't they go there? I pondered briefly if they had a "Common Effing Sense 101" class I could take.

Trash had an entirely different approach. "So?"

"So?" repeated Vico, incredulous. "So, we can't sit next to them! They're real, bonafide heroes!"

Rover snorted at that, and broke in between Trash and Vico to stride forward and sit down at the table, next to the hippie. He smiled at them, and then began to dig into his food. Trash shrugged at Vico and sat down next to Rover.

Vico pretty much gave up at that point, and took the final seat on the bench the other two were sitting at. Michelle and I took our seats last. It was only after we sat that I realized I had inadvertently sat next to tall, dark and scary. Brill-iant.

I tried to slide a little further along the bench, but this attempt was ruined when a tall, friendly boy with brown hair sat down next to Mickey and immediately started eating a bag of chips, appearing oblivious to our stares.

Mickey banged her head on the table once, then faced us. "Everyone, this is my brother, Mark. Mark, this is everyone."

Ah, so this was the elusive older brother. I had not expected him to be quite so good-looking. And I did not just think what I think I thought, did I? I carefully monitored my facial muscles to make sure my face wasn't doing anything embarrassing. I had watched more than enough tween television shows to know what to watch for. I had possibly watched too much tween television programs, but that was neither here nor there.

There was a sudden crash next to me, and I turned to see Tall, Dark, and Scary slam his hands on the table, stand up, and glower at something behind him as the table started to melt a little. He then whirled around and starting tossing fireballs, against the cries of his friends and innocent bystanders.

I looked for what he was aiming at and saw a blur that slowed into a chubby boy who my now high-functioning mind had labeled as Speed, another of Royal Pain's lackeys. He was grinning at Tall, Dark, and Scary and had obviously sped by and screwed with him. I sucked absent-mindedly on a juice box as I watched the scene unfolding.

It was just getting to be good when all of a sudden, Speed slowed down to average human speed and Tall, Dark, and Scary's hands threw nothing. I immediately glowered at Trash, who had his eyes crossed in concentration. "Dang it Trash, I was watching that!" I whined, ignoring the fact that I sounded like a third grader whose mother had just switched off the television.

"Yeah, well, I was trying to eat before they interrupted," he managed to breathe out through his concentration.

I opened my mouth to respond, and ducked instead as a chunk of metal flew past where my head had been.

"Sorry!" Mark said with a sheepish grin. The metal flew on to encircle both Speed and Tall, Dark, and Scary and then dragged them back to where they'd been sitting. After that was done, Mark nodded at Trash. "You can let them go now."

In the far corner, Lash was laughing at Speed so hard he couldn't seem to stay seated. Tall, Dark, and Scary, for his part, glowered at all of us. Me, mostly, since I was closest.

I had had quite enough. "What're you staring at, Tall, Dark, and Scary? I didn't have nothin' to do with it, so just turn around!" I snapped at him before mentally bitch-slapping myself. Had I really just called him Tall, Dark, and Scary? Wow. I had some sort of death wish over here.

Everyone at my table and the table next to ours appeared to agree, as they all stared at me. Well, except Rover, but that was because Mickey had gotten a hold of his tennis ball and was bouncing it on the table in front of her, and his eyes were locked onto his precious tennis ball.

"What?" I demanded of everyone looking at me in a wounded tone. "I just want to drink my appa joos, okay?"

If anything, the stares increased. I pointedly turned my back to all of them and started on my third juice box and prayed for lunch to end before I did any more irreparable social damage.


	4. Volume 04: Back to the Gym

**Title**: Help Save the Youth of America from Exploding  
**Rating**: T, just to be safe.  
**Disclaimer**: I do not own Sky High or anything or anyone to do with Sky High. So don't sue me. I mean, you could, but all you'd get is a deflated rugby ball and a computer that freezes every five minutes. So it wouldn't really be worth it. I also don't own the title, which the title of a Less Than Jake song.  
**Note**: Just so as y'all know, this will NOT be a Warren/OC fic in any way, shape, or form. I included him in his role this chapter entirely for a single, lonesome joke.

* * *

**Volume 04**

* * *

After lunch came to an anticlimactic end with the ear shattering ringing of the bell, Mark ditched us ickle freshmen in order to race down the hall and perform athletic jumps over everything – real or imagined – in his way. Obviously, a sugar rush or eight had finally hit his system. Either that, or the drugs had kicked in. Or worn off.

I decided that if a senior could do sprint down the middle of the hall and make it look cool, so could I, and took off as fast as I could. Which was pretty fast, since I had grown up around male, rugby-playing cousins. I still looked like a dumbass, but at least I was a fast dumbass. And besides, I like running. Up until the point I stop, realize that I had forgotten to breathe the entire time and that's probably not good for my asthma, anyway. Then I don't like running very much.

I made it back to the gym first, of course. Because I'm mad cool like that. Also, I was running. I did take a detour to the bathroom, though, so when I hit the entrance my friends were within sight, meandering their way over reluctantly. I stopped short of the doors and peered in through one of the windows on the door, a habit that had developed the second I was tall enough to see through said windows. I hated to barge in on things, all loudly and everyone'd stare and I'd turn bright red. So yeah, windows were a good thing.

What I saw through the window was not so much. I jumped back from the window and shrank against the pillar next to me. "Hey, guys?" I stage-whispered across to my posse – heh, 'posse', – who were now just a couple feet away. "We were supposed to regroup in the gym, right?"

"Correctamundo," Rover said lazily. He had, at some point in their stroll through the corridors, gotten very friendly and now had his arms laid across Mickey and Vico's shoulders. Mickey looked slightly confused by this.

"Then why on Earth-" a quick glower at Rover ensured he didn't point out that we weren't actually really technically _on_ Earth, "-is the gym filled with people not so much of the freshman description?"

Instead of answering with explanatory, soothing words, Rover grinned at me. "You're nervous!" he crowed. "You gotta be! You're speaking Californian again!"

I glowered and tried to kick him, but he danced away. He was right, too, that was the real dig. I've lived all over the country, so I tend to slip into accents at inconvenient moments. Californian – rather, lots of 'likes' and misappropriation of nouns as verbs – when I'm nervous, Southern when I'm confident, Brooklyn when I'm really tired and annoyed, that sort of thing. Rover thinks it's the coolest thing ever, since it makes it way too damn easy to tell what I'm feeling half the time. He says he wished all girls were like that, because he'd quit getting slapped so often. I personally think he'd still get slapped as much as he seems to have a talent for it. Maybe that's his second superpower.

Mickey, quickly shaping up to be the wise one of our unlikely gaggle, had pushed past us to peer in the window. "By George, she's right!" she exclaimed, and was rewarded with a giggle from Rover for sounding, quote, 'like an old British man'. Everyone else rushed forward to get a look as well, and someone rushed a little too enthusiastically, as the door swung forward and we all fell into the room.

We regained our senses quickly – well, except Vico, who I grabbed by the collar and dragged after us – and rushed to join the edgy gaggle of freshmen beginning to spaz out under the watchful eyes of older students. We must have been the last to arrive, as Boomer favored us with a sour glare and started talking immediately.

"Now that we're done with power placement…" We must had been gone longer than I thought. I shared a mildly horrified look with Vico. Trash and Rover couldn't care less about being late for anything (Trash because he once heard that time was created by human beings and didn't exist, Rover because he had this theory that if he was late for everything, perhaps he'd be late for death), but Vico and I had shared the award for perfect attendance all through elementary school, and you got disqualified for that just by being a minute late to one class. "…it's time to introduce a brand new 'initiative' Principal Powers came up with." You had to respect a guy who could speak in quotation marks. At least, I had to.

"In the spirit of 'togetherness' and 'school spirit'," he practically spat out, looking like the words were upsetting his stomach, "The principal has decided to pair all incoming freshmen with a sophomore 'mentor' who will show them around the school, help them with their homework, and so on." He obviously thought this was a stupid idea that was going to blow up, and I had to agree.

So did Rover, who decided to pipe up with a loud cry of, "Mentor? We don't need no stinkin' mentors!" in a cringe-worthy accent. I gave it what it was worth, wincing and sliding away from him as much as I could without being obvious.

"For that, Domino, you're first." He scanned the bored crowd of sophomores, looking for the perfect target. "Stronghold!" he finally barked out, pointing Mr. All American from lunch out to Rover.

"But-but… I don't need no stinkin' mentor?" he asked weakly. The coach glowered at him and opened his mouth, likely to belt out an epithet accompanied by a sonic blast, but Rover quickly held up a hand. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he muttered as moved over to stand by the Stronghold kid. I gave him a look, telling him through the power of my eyes and expression to play nice. In response, he rolled his eyes and mouthed, 'Yes, Mom,' at me.

Then Boomer went crazy, using his left hand to point out freshmen and his right to stab at a sophomore. Mickey got assigned some kid with shaggy hair who I coulda sworn had not been there a moment ago. I gave him a suspicious look and filed him under my 'to keep an eye on' mental category. Not that I'd remember for too long, it just gave me a sense of accomplishment to keep my mental desk free and clear of any memos. I was probably putting too much thought into the state of my mind for it to be healthy.

Vico, to his horror, got paired with a tall blonde poser-type with a sideways visor and the look of a concussed puppy. I had often seen the same look on Trash's face, especially after math class. Trash, for his part, got paired with a surly looking girl with purple streaks through her hair. Both of them had been at the table next to ours during lunch, so I used my superior deductive reasoning skills to figure they had been part of the group that destroyed Royal Pain.

I awaited my own assignment, chewing on the inside of my cheek. A bad habit, and one that occasionally had me swallowing bits of my own skin, but more comfortable than wreaking holy havoc on my fingernails. I chewed those two. My mom used to say I had an oral fixation, but I had complained that that made it sound sexual. She had stopped, but she had also banned me from reading anything more by Freud. Her loss. I could have been an award-winning psychologist, you know.

Finally, the finger jabbed at me. Last but not least! My eyes traveled over to see where his other hand was pointing, and found it aimed directly at… Tall, Dark, and Scary. Brilliant.

I somehow managed to drag myself over to the corner he was lounging against, partially terrified and partially wanting to smack him for keeping up the stereotypical disaffected youth stance. In the end, I settled for standing there awkwardly.

Tall, Dark, and Scary didn't seem to like the idea any more than I did. He stared down at me, and finally sighed and said, "War and Peace."

"Anna Karenina," I replied, confused. Why were trading Tolstoy book titles?

He glowered at me, and my memory clicked into place. Warren Peace, not War and Peace. I turned bright red. "Ah, um, that is, Jamie. Jamie Delaney." I very nearly stuck my hand out to shake, like the proper little girl I'd been brought up to be, but my subconscious caught that he had his arms folded a second before my own arm would have jerked up. Or maybe my precognition was finally making itself useful by forewarning me of social agony as well as physical. One could hope, eh?

Everyone was handed their schedule by hassled-looking senior, probably an office assistant of some description. This took a while, and the bell rang before she was finished. She had obviously had enough, and threw the remaining papers into the air and stormed away. I had already gotten mine (thank you, last name near the beginning of the alphabet!) so I split, giving my dear new mentor a vague wave as I sprinted across the gym. That run through the halls earlier had awakened my urge to dash to and fro. I reached the hallway, stopped, turned around, and ran back into the gym to wait for my friends.

Not that bad of a first day, I thought to myself. Sure, I had made a total fool of myself twice, but nothing truly horrifying. I should have remembered that the day wasn't fully over yet.


End file.
